Synthetic Ecstasy
by difficile
Summary: ...and he wondered, briefly, if the winds would grace him with the boy's presence again. al-cid/vaan. post game.


**_A/N: ...I really don't know what got into me! This idea just hit me and I just wrote it out. I'm starting to like this cracky couple. This doesn't have much of a plot. I was kind of just... venting. XD_**

**_Please tell me what you think in a review; I take anonymous reviews for a reason, too! _**

**_Warnings: male/male relationships. some hot 'n heavy stuff. crack pairing! and...no Balthier/Vaan? SHENANIGANS!_**

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**Synthetic Ecstasy**

_xxxii - exploration_

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Bronzed skin shimmers in the dancing candlelight and veil of sweat covers rippling muscles. Exceedingly tan all over; delicious. Delicious, the way he tastes, the way he kisses and touches; endearing, feverous. Delicious in the way his eyes blink slowly, seductively, and yet how incredible that it is just like any other movement. Natural, beautiful. He finds himself, ironically, wanting more. _Needing_ more.

Dalmascans always were irresistible compared to even the most exotic of Rozarrians. It has always been a natural attraction; perhaps it was the sun-kissed skin or alluring eyes, or the lack of the thick accent that came with everyone from his homeland. Whatever the reason, this boy above him is the epitome of everything Al-Cid had ever wanted.

Al-Cid doesn't know how it really happened; he doesn't know when it happened, or hell, even _why_ it happened.

All he knows is that he likes it, likes this young and handsome boy at his mercy.

Or, he thinks, perhaps it is the other way around. Yes, that is likely – very likely. There are ulterior motives behind those gray-blue eyes, something hinting beyond what has already transpired through those full, dark lips – there must be. No one can be this perfect, this submissive and wild without some kind of alternative. If this Rabanastran has something planned in that little mind of his then, oh, Al-Cid just fell hard and fast – hook, line, and sinker.

He had fallen the second Vaan appeared at his door, half-clad and with a body just screaming to be touched, to be claimed, to have the kind of treatment only a talented man of House Margrace could give. The words exchanged between them were quick, he remembers.

_"May I help you?" the Rozarrian had asked on opening his chamber door to stare at a face he hadn't seen in a while, a face that had changed with the passing time and war._

"_Just passing by."_

_He had changed, he had grown. Vaan's voice was deeper, slightly. He was a few inches taller, Al-Cid wagered, and his attire was new as well. The blond was ornamented in an array of jewels, from silver bangles to gold piercings adorning his ears to rings that resembled that of a vaguely familiar Arcadian sky pirate. His hair was longer, tied in a messy selection of outlandishly dyed hemp and tossed over one shoulder. Careless, alluring._

"_You have changed, I see."_

"_I'm a sky pirate now; the winds have taken me to Rozarria."_

_A chuckle reverberates through the Margrace palace chamber. "This I can see. To what do I owe such a visit? Or should it be the wind, I thank, for your surprising presence in my palace?"_

_Silence stretched between them. Vaan stood, stretched languidly across the doorframe but in a way that hinted something more than what his following words were. His eyes spoke something,_ _promised something, screamed… something. And Al-Cid looked back, gaze unwavering as he began to drown in an unfamiliar sea of blue-gray. When Vaan spoke again his voice was softer, "I'll give you a hint."_

_And that was that – lips crashed, doors shut, and the candle set by the window continued to burn._

'_Curse these sky pirates,' Al-Cid thought, 'always taking what they want. I will allow myself this luxury as well.'_

_And then they were on the bed._

Vaan is absolutely ravishing; Al-Cid cannot help but swallow up every breath with kisses as impassioned as the moans he does not let escape. They are entangled, delightfully and sinfully so, within the regal, scarlet silk sheets. Tan skin against even more tan, dark hair against platinum. Flesh on flesh, lips on lips, fingers intertwined, and they wrestle like playful lovers when they both know they are far from so.

Al-Cid nips at Vaan's collarbone and is elated to hear a quick gasp, so sweet and harmonious to his ears. Their noses brush and their tongues lash, warring in the tight space between their moist and swollen lips. Vaan is an excellent kisser, much to Al-Cid's surprise, and he doesn't hesitate to selfishly grab all the precious territory of this boy he can before the night runs out.

Wax drips from the candle; another half-hour passes by. Vaan teases Al-Cid with a wicked grin, and suddenly the Rozarrian realizes he has fallen for the charm, instead of the other way around.

The blond rolls them over on the other side of the bed, and Al-Cid is on top of the placid, trembling body. Shadows dance against the wall, the pillows, the headboard. Light shimmers against the curves of Vaan's skin and in the unfaltering look in his eyes that Al-Cid cannot describe. The feeling of cool, previously unoccupied sheets makes the teen shiver and Vaan arches up desperately to lock their lips again.

Al-Cid obliges with hasty kisses of his own, as if they are racing against time, against the moon and the stars, against the anticipated sunrise.

The candle flickers in the ever-increasing darkness, and incense permeates the room – but not enough to be noticed by the thick scent of musk and skin and unbridled lust that came from seemingly nowhere, nowhere but the thick midnight or stirring flames.

"You are no fledgling at this—" Al-Cid starts, voice strained to keep noises of sheer pleasure from breaking through his voice. He shivers as Vaan rolls his hips again, and oh _gods_ his willpower could be kissed goodbye; it wouldn't be returning that evening. There's a rustle of sheets, a few sporadic breaths heavy and laden with lust, yearning.

And then a laugh. It is light and quick, innocent and yet condescending. Vaan is far more than what meets the eye.

"Definitely not."

Vaan's voice is unwavering despite the quickening movements between them. Al-Cid can feel the boy's tongue trace his jawline and he shuts his lust-clouded eyes briefly.

They are both close to the precipice, painfully so, and the Rozarrian bites his own lip to keep back another moan. The younger boy's hands claw at the sheets, fingers turning white against crimson silk and lavish pillowfs, pillows ornamented with monograms of the finest thread.

They do not whisper each other's names through this language of passion exchanged. It is a synthetic ecstasy, a one night stand that will be forgotten with the absence of each other as morning comes. But they lie together regardless of what would soon be forgotten, they lie as one beneath bedraggled sheets and overstuffed pillows.

A whisper of the wind passes through the open window, and the weakening flame douses with the slightest provocation. Bathed in nothing but moonlight pouring through the ribbing clouds, Al-Cid watches the blond, almost cherubic-like as he dreams, and wonders what kind of spell the Rabanastran cast over him that night.

_The winds have taken me to Rozarria._

Quickly the thought passes Al-Cid – Vaan will be gone by the morrow, early; _he is a sky pirate now_, and takes pride in coming and going as he pleases. And the dark-haired man wonders if the wind would be so kind as to bring the boy back again.

…Would it be a crime to hope so?


End file.
